


Deducing Us

by AverageFan (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cancer, Detectives, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Eventual Parentlock, Gay Male Character, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock Smut, M/M, Mentions of past self harm, Past Abuse, Post Reichenbach, Very gay much gay, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AverageFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has been dead for two years. John Watson mourned his best friend every day, praying he would come back. Within those two years John finds someone to love, to cherish, and to reduce the pain of his loss. However, when his best friend miraculously returns, hidden feelings start to unfold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John shakily stood opposite the granite stone, engraved with his best friend's name. "Sherlock, it's been two years", he whispered, a salty tear rolling down his face. After a little cough, he spoke up, "Well, I came to tell you something. You know I met that woman, named Mary? I'm going to propose. She's made this whole situation easier and means a lot to me. That doesn't mean I'm okay now though, God no. I miss you so much Sherlock... Look, I know I ask this of you every time and I must sound ridiculous, but please stop being dead. I want my best friend there on the most important day in my life. Please Sherlock, come back". Tears streamed down his face as he placed a yellow rose in front of the gravestone. He stayed knelt down and followed the engraving with his finger. Sighing, he stood back up and with one look back, slowly walked away.

Fumbling with the keys, John locked his front door. He went round to the passenger seat, opening the door for his, hopefully, soon to be fiance. After getting in after her, he silently drove to the restaurant where he had booked a reservation. His mind was trailing off into thought as he drove, wondering what her answer would be, if he was making the right decision and of course, if Sherlock would suddenly turn up out of nowhere. His thoughts continued to distract him for roughly 30 minutes, making him not pay attention to the woman opposite him in the restaurant or the waiter asking him questions. Mary had previously gone to the toilet, and when she came back he was ready to propose. As she sat down, she sweetly smiled at him, a smile which he politely returned despite his nerves. "Mary, I was wondering..", he began, fingering the box in his pocket. However, the waiter had came back and was starting to irritate him again with the questions. This caused John to look up and say, "Right can you come back in a minute?". However, his last word lingered in the air. To John, his heart may have stopped beating. He looked into the familiar blue-green iris', upset, anger, hurt all filling up inside of him. A sense of relief washed over him though. He stood up, not breaking the eye contact with his old friend. In the distance he could hear, "John? John, what's wrong?", but that held no importance to him right now. Fury burned inside of him, taking over and empowering his other emotions. "You complete bastard", he hissed. The expression on the other man's face changed from one holding happiness to one of worry, but this didn't stop John. With a powerful swing of his fist, he came into contact with the detective's face, hearing a breath of pain from the man. He brought his hand up to cup his cheek, "John, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you I-". He was cut off with two arms wrapping around his waist. "Sherlock, don't ever leave me again". 

The taller man wrapped his strong arms around the shorter one in response, a small smile greeting his lips in response to the sudden embrace. "I'm sorry John", he whispered. After being embraced for longer than two minutes, Mary spoke up. "Um, sorry but what is going on?". Both men jumped and broke apart, a small pink tinge greeting both of their cheeks. "Well, there is time to explain later or tomorrow, continue with your meal", Sherlock said, but John stopped him. "Sherlock you can't die for two years and then come back just to say hey. Mary, would you mind if he joined us?". Mary shook her head and they all took their seats. The meals for the couple then arrived, and while they ate, Sherlock just silently sat staring at John in admiration. Sherlock had never had a real friend, or a friend at all to be brutally honest. He never needed nor wanted one. However, from the moment he met John Watson, he longed to be close to him. He craved that feeling of being cared for by someone else. He needed his presence near him. Truth was, over the last two years, Sherlock had nearly gone crazy. During his travels, he always carried a photograph of him and John that had been taken by Mrs Hudson one Christmas. Sherlock barely slept within those two years, forever worrying about his best friend. 

Soon, John and Mary had finished their meals, and asked Sherlock to explain. "Well. Mary, hello, it is nice to meet you. I am Sherlock Holmes, best friend of John here. Two years ago, I faked my own death. Don't ask why, it is so very complicated. One aspect of it though, was to save the lives of the very few I hold dear to me, and that included John. For the past two years I have been travelling Europe, solving cases to occupy my time. Now John, I suspect you are wondering how I did it, yes?". John nodded, but Sherlock only replied with, "You'll have to wait until later. Sorry John but I don't want to talk about it right here too much". After another 20 minutes, Sherlock and John were back at 221B Baker Street. "Ready?", John asked his best friend. "Of course" was the answer. After surprising Mrs Hudson and talking to her for a while, both men climbed the staircase and gazed into the old room which held many memories. After rearranging some furniture, they sat down in their usual places. Everything seemed right again.

"Well, how did you do it Sherlock?", John asked curiously. "Well John, I had a few people to help out. They were all keeping an eye on you, and all standing around the area to come when I fell. On the rooftop, I positioned myself so I would fall behind the building in front of you, hence why you needed to stay in a particular place. When I dropped, I fell onto a large mat and then ran to the pavement. Then the people I knew rushed over, one knocking you over so the others would have enough time to add the blood. I then placed a ball under my arm, which cuts off the pulse for a bit. You then came and checked, and due to the ball, felt no pulse. I then got put in the ambulance. The drivers already knew it was a set up. That's basically what happened. And I am really sorry I didn't tell you the plan, I thought it would have been best. You wouldn't have behaved the same, and it wouldn't be as believable. I am sincerely sorry though. Do you forgive me?", Sherlock said. For a minute, John sat stunned, digesting all the information. And as much as this man had hurt him, he couldn't stay angry. This was what he had been wishing for after all. John nodded in response to the question. He heard a sigh of relief from Sherlock. "I have to admit Sherlock, that's pretty brilliant. But what else could I expect. And Sherlock, you don't know how much it hurt. I begged every day for you to come back...". "I'm really sorry John. But I'm here now, and I'm happy I am", Sherlock said. "So am I", John agreed, and they both smiled.

After five minutes of silence, John pounced onto Sherlock, balling his eyes out. Sherlock was taken back by his friend's actions, but felt a heart warming sensation. Tears pricked his eyes and he allowed them to fall as he wrapped his arms round the man clinging on to him, rubbing his back in attempt to sooth him. "Sherlock, please please never do that again, I barely survived without you. Don't leave me again", John whimpered into the bigger man's chest. "John I promise, I will never leave you again, ever, until the day I die", Sherlock promised, and he meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Sherlock lay stiff in his cold bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He’d wished John hadn’t gone home to Mary. He was 99% sure they would be getting up to mischief in the bedroom. Sherlock didn’t like that idea. He easily got jealous when John ever gave other people attention, especially women. He didn’t want to think that way, irrationally and illogically, but it was the truth. He just wanted John to himself. Also, with John not being in the room next to him, Sherlock had worry also on his mind. He knew Mrs Hudson was in the house, but she wouldn’t be able to protect him. Sherlock was never scared, never afraid by what he saw while working on cases; but being alone at night was a little bit nerve-wracking. John used to be a soldier, after all. That would mean he could protect him if anyone tried to hurt him. However, Sherlock’s mind was a complicated little thing. If someone broke in and tried to hurt John, Sherlock would lose all control and go to kill the intruder. He didn’t want anyone to hurt his John. That was one of the reasons he always wanted to be by his side, just in case he had to protect his best friend. The last 4 years have been quite confusing to Sherlock. He never had to deal with emotions, but once John had come along, he couldn’t get rid of the damn things. He hated how John made him feel, made him actually _care_ ; but he loved it too.  All of these mixed feelings meant restless nights for Sherlock. But why couldn’t he sleep now, in the comfort of his home? Well, that was because he just couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about the case Greg would assign to him now he was officially alive; about how people would react; about what his future would turn out like. About John. About his shining eyes and how they could change on a daily basis, his small smile whenever he approved of something Sherlock said, about his perfection. Sherlock didn’t realise that what he was really thinking about his best friend sounded as if he was a school girl with a crush on the football captain. Or I guess, for John, he’d be more like the head boy. After hours of endless thoughts, Sherlock’s piercing eyes drooped, sending him into a peaceful slumber. 

 

That night, John lay awake in his warm bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He couldn’t help but think about how he wanted to stay at 221B, drinking tea with Sherlock and maybe getting him to play his violin. John slowly averted his gaze to the sleeping woman curled up next to him, her bare skin covered by a mess of covers. A small sigh left his lips as he untangled himself from her and stood up, moving towards the window and pulling a curtain slowly back to reveal the city under the stars. John wished that he had stayed with Sherlock; he hadn’t seen him for two years after all. And Sherlock would probably have had another lonesome night. John didn’t like that idea. Sherlock had been alone for two years, and the majority of his life. He didn’t deserve to be alone that much, even if the man could be obnoxious and irritating. John wanted to be there, sleeping in the room next to him. Also, that way, John would be able to protect Sherlock if need be. He did used to be a soldier, after all. Sherlock never seemed to need protecting, but if someone broke in to try and hurt him, John would hurt that person; hurt them bad. No one would hurt Sherlock on John’s watch. And John wasn’t there. Worry seeped into his mind as he thought that Sherlock could be in danger, but he pushed that thought aside. Despite Sherlock’s intelligence, he could be careless sometimes. This is why John wanted to be by his side, to make sure his best friend was safe. Sherlock was one of the most important to the man, probably the most important. He mixed John’s emotions up, and this rarely ever happened. Sherlock could affect John’s mood so quickly; no one else was capable of this, not even Mary. The one thing about Sherlock was, he could always make John feel special. He didn’t know how, but he could. John stood by the window, gazing out into the calm surroundings, thinking. Thinking about a new case him and Sherlock could work on; about the fun times they could have; about what would happen with Mary. About Sherlock. His piercingly blue-green eyes, his signature wink and smile, his perfection. John didn’t realise that he was sounding ridiculously obsessed with the man. And after one look back out of the window, he climbed back into bed, and allowed himself to drift off into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ridiculously short I'm sorry


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock sat topless in plaid pyjama bottoms in the warm room. It should be cold, but Sherlock had the heating turned up high over-night. A steaming coffee, with two sugars, had his fingers wrapped loosely but securely around it. The man looked out of the window, reading people as they walked past. _‘Unemployed. Divorced. Two kids. Scared’, ‘Having an affair with his next door neighbour’s twenty year old son. Works in education. Concentrated’, ‘Teenager of about 15. Alone. Obsessed with social media. Depressed’_. Sherlock sometimes felt ashamed of the British population, and sometimes pitied the broken; but mainly the previous. As he took a sip of his sweet tea, he noticed a familiar body striding across the road. ‘ _So he does care about me’_ the younger of the two adults thought. He didn’t realise how much John actually did care for him. Sherlock waited at the window, and within seconds-as expected- a small knock came from the door. Mrs Hudson opened it, knowing fully well who was waiting behind the black wooden door. “Hello John, I’m assuming you’re here to see Sherlock? He’s upstairs”, she greeted him kindly. John nodded and thanked the elderly woman before climbing up the flight of stairs. John had been feeling a strange pull towards Sherlock since they reunited. This pull had been there since the start, like they were oppositely charged magnets drawing each other in. It disappeared mainly after the ‘death’ of his best friend. The doctor was confused to as why he felt this way about his friend, but he pushed his thoughts to the side. As John entered through the door frame, he noticed Sherlock standing by the window, topless. This in no way made John uncomfortable; it only make him blush. “Hello John”, Sherlock greeted, spinning around and giving him a huge smile. “H-Hello Sherlock”, John said, choking on his greeting. The sight of the younger man was truly brilliant to John. John found his friend exceptionally attractive; he always had. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this, especially now he had a girlfriend, but he just couldn’t help it. “Would you like a drink John?” Sherlock offered, to which John told him he would like a coffee. Sherlock went off to make the beverage in the kitchen, and John picked up one of the many sheets of paper scattered across the desk. It looked like a list of some sort. It said:

 

“ _To do list when I arrive back in London:_

_-Greet Molly, Greg and Mrs Hudson._

_-Surprise John and hopefully stay clear of being abused for my idiocy._

_-Try to get John working with me on cases again._

_-Approach Greg and get him to assign many cases for the two of us to work on._

_-Bring happiness to John._

_-Tell him how I’ve been feeling all of this time. Maybe._

_-Get the blood stain on my jacket properly removed. My jacket is very important.”_

John chuckled to himself as he read the last one. However, one of the points confused him very much. What Sherlock needed to tell him, he wondered. _‘Maybe he likes me’._ John then shook his head at the ridiculous idea. He placed the paper down, and that was when he noticed a photograph. It had slight rips on the sides and was crumpled; and it was of him and Sherlock. John smiled to himself as he realised the detective had taken that photo on his travels. He became distracted by the man as he leant over John’s shoulder and held the coffee in front of his face. John could feel his hot breath on his neck and shuddered. He then took the drink and thanked his friend. “I believe Greg will have some cases ready for us to investigate today John. John?” Sherlock said. John was staring at the man’s magnificent body so intensely that he couldn’t hear a word he was saying. “Hm, sorry? What was that?” he said, a pink tinge appearing in his cheeks. Sherlock chuckled to himself and repeated the statement. In response, John said “Oh yes”. “That is, if you still would like to work with me?” the other man asked. “Of course I would!” John replied, a bit too enthusiastically. Sherlock laughed once more and finished his drink, announcing he was going to get ready. _‘What I would do to help him’_ John thought. He then shook his head violently. He didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from. They were getting out of hand and extremely inappropriate. He continued to battle with his thoughts while waiting for his best friend and finishing the drink. Soon, Sherlock walked back in, fully clothed in his usual investigating attire, and John stood up. The two left the small house after saying goodbye to their landlord, and caught a taxi to the police station. 

 

“Sherlock, John! I’ve been expecting you. I’ve found many cases and clients for you to investigate” Greg spoke, ruffling through the piles of sheets on his desk. After finding one, he gave Sherlock the paper. “I think this one is rather interesting, boys” he said, pointing to a chunk of text three quarters down the page. Sherlock read through it before passing it to John. Both men agreed to take the cases and demolish them. 

Back in the taxi, John and Sherlock were on their way to the newly discovered crime scene. According to Greg’s notes, a suspiciously strange scene had been left in an abandoned building; confusing the police department and causing them to bring in the best detective in the world to make deductions. When they arrived, John paused to observe the surroundings, seeing if the building was safe for the two to enter. Sherlock however, just went straight ahead and walked into the building. John called out to him, but Sherlock kept on walking. In response, John rolled his eyes and jogged to catch up with him. Sherlock was already in the room which the two were there to investigate. A few other members of the investigating team were already there and waiting for Sherlock’s arrival. 

 

There was a skeleton sitting limp in a rigid chair, covered in cobwebs and wearing a suit. A desk was in front of the decayed body, objects scattered upon it. Sherlock whipped out his miniature magnifying glass after looking slightly shocked, and began observing the skeleton; taking in the scent of the suit; smelling pine, cedar, new mothballs. As he investigated further, he concluded the skeleton had fire damage upon it. He then moved to another area. John asked, “You’re onto something, aren’t you?” to which the detective replied, “Mmhm”. “Show off”, John muttered, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He then took a look at the other side of the long dead body, and after coming to some sort of conclusion, returned to the front of the desk where he originally stood, observing. Then, crouching down, he brought his hands up to his lower facial area, pulling his signature move. John joined the detective, identifying how old the skeleton must have been. They both said, in unison, “It can’t be more than six months old”. After looking in one of the old oak drawers, Sherlock pulled out a book, with the name, “How I Did It, by Jack the Ripper”; and threw it down onto the table. Greg and John looked at the book with matching confused expressions. “I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining it to you”, Sherlock stated; which Greg replied with, “No, explain away”. “The corpse is six months old, wearing an outfit which had been displayed in a museum, on a dummy, for years. It’s facing south-east. Judging from the fading of the fabric, it was sold off in a fire damage sale a week ago” Sherlock described, showing his phone to Greg to prove his point. Greg then asked, “So the whole thing was a fake?”. “Yes.” Sherlock replied, turning away slightly. “But it looked so promising”, Greg said, disappointed with the reality of it all. Sherlock began to walk out of the door and back into the cold streets of London. “Why would someone go to all that trouble?” John asked, to which Sherlock replied, “Why indeed John”. 

 

John followed his friend out of the room with a quick glance at Greg, who looked extremely gutted with the outcome. No one knew how much John was mesmerized by seeing Sherlock solve a crime once again. Sherlock never failed to impress John; and Sherlock’s wit was one thing that never failed to attract John. John just didn’t realise that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's crappy. I'm also really sorry about not updating regularly. I am extremely busy and life is just shit, so I don't really have the time for writing; as much as I wish I did. Updates will happen, but not regularly or in a specific pattern, just randomly. Sorry again.


	4. Chapter 4

_John lay on top of Sherlock, their lips crashing against each other’s in a heated manor. John’s fingers were tightly wrapped around chunks of Sherlock’s curly, dark brown hair. Sherlock hastily undid the buttons on the older man’s white shirt; his own blue one already been discarded on the floor. John broke away from his love, but only momentarily, to remove his shirt. Their lips then reattached together. Sherlock rolled John over, becoming dominant and straddling the other man. He then moved his lips to his neck, biting and bruising different parts. Quiet sighs of pleasure escaped John’s mouth and he tipped his head back to allow Sherlock to easily access different parts of his neck. Both men’s jeans were now tight against their crotches and both ached for pleasure. Sherlock involuntarily grinded against the other; earning a moan in return. “Sherlock, please”, John whined, desperate to be taken by the attractive, lustful man on top of him. Sherlock just grinned and lowered his hand to undo John’s jeans, whilst biting his lip. In a flash, both men were naked and roughly moving their lips together. Sherlock had John’s shoulders pinned down onto the bed underneath them. “Please”, John moaned. Sherlock then carefully slid his-_

“Sherlock, get the fuck up already!” John yelled at the flustered man, tangled in his sheets. Sherlock groaned and rolled to face the opposite side, hiding his ‘morning wood’ from his friend; which was showing through his plaid pyjama bottoms. Sherlock’s cheeks burned furiously. John jumped onto the bed and started shaking Sherlock. “One minute John, could you please go and make me a coffee?” Sherlock tiredly asked. “Okay honey”, he replied in a sarcastic tone; but leaving to make the beverage never-the-less. Sherlock sat up and covered his eyes, whispering, “Think of Mrs Hudson naked” over and over again. Eventually, he got rid of his problem and stood up, cracking his back and checking the time. His phone read ‘8:17’. This was unusual for the detective; as he usually woke up at around six. However, tonight he had one of his dreams which he would rather not appear when he slept. Sherlock then put on his slippers and lazily strolled into the living room, walking over to his chair opposite John’s, who was already there sipping his tea. Sherlock saw another mug placed on the table besides John and grabbed it, thanking John. He then sat in his cool leather armchair, crossing his left leg over his right. He took a gulp of his sweet coffee and observed John’s facial expressions. “ _Furrowed brows; deep in thought. Cut skin on his lip; anxiously been biting it. Looking at the ground instead of starting to explain himself being here early; preoccupied and worrying about something. Obviously he has fallen out with Mary. Better ask anyway”_ Sherlock thought. “John, tell me what is wrong” he stated. “Hm? Oh, nothing is the matter Sherlock” he got in response. “We both know that there is something troubling you. You are staring at the ground and have a cut on your lip mean that you are anxious about something and are deep in thought about it. You have also not started to explain your reasoning for being here this early. Now are you going to tell me what happened with Mary or not?” Sherlock explained. John rolled his eyes, but gave in and began to tell his best friend what had happened. “She asked me where I was yesterday, so I told her that I had been working on a case with you. She then threw her journal across the room, which knocked a vase onto the floor; which she instantly blamed me for; as per usual. She then starting saying how I spent too much time with you and that you aren’t good enough for me and I should stay away from you because you’re a freak. This angered me so I defended you, naturally, saying how you were more intelligent than everyone I know and you had been gone for two years and are my best friend; so of course I’m going to spend time with you. She then continued with the insults and moved onto me, saying how if I continued to spend time with you then she would leave me. I just rolled my eyes and walked out of the house, saying that if she can’t deal with me having a best friend who is better than her in every single way; then she should just leave me”. Sherlock’s heart pounded, and silence filled the air.

 

“I appreciate that, I really do. It makes me feel extremely special. But you have to realise that no matter how big I may seem to agree with you, I am not actually that great. So I can do a few accurate deductions, so what? I am not worth losing your girlfriend over. She is much more sensitive and kind than I am, therefore worth keeping. You should not have defended me. I am flattered, really, but I am in fact a freak who you should not be hanging around with. I’m sorry that happened John”. Sherlock looked down at the ground, both feeling upset and loved. Nobody knew how destructive Sherlock’s thoughts could actually be sometimes, and they were all very hurtful. In response to Sherlock’s answer, John was shocked beyond belief. He had never known his friend to say such horrible things about himself. He, and everyone else, had always thought that the detective had such a large ego; when really it was a cover up. John finally found his voice, and told Sherlock, “Shut up. I do not want to hear you say such ridiculous things again in your life. You are brilliant. Why else would you be my best friend? You are kind Sherlock. Think about it. You’ve saved my life many times, and even though you aren’t as affectionate as others, you constantly tell me that I should be careful. You care about me. Unkind people do not care. You are worth everything. I would not be here right now if you weren’t. And your deductions are far from slightly accurate. You are the best consulting detective in the world! Definitely the most intelligent! Sherlock if I hear things like that come out of that mouth of yours I may have to slap you”. With that, John stood up and pulled Sherlock up too. He then wrapped his arms around the taller man, which brought a smile to him. Sherlock engulfed the short man into a huge hug, whispering, “Love you John” a tear slowly rolling down his cheek while he did so. “Love you too Sherlock”. 

 

John didn’t realise that the brown haired man, who hardly expressed feelings and definitely never real love; had in fact fallen in love for the first time. A love which had been filling Sherlock’s heart since the second he met the soldier, and slowly driving him to complete insanity, simply because he didn’t know that John loved him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY if I brought this in too early I was getting bored with their simple friendship. Also, this chapter would have included the rest of the day but I have exams this week (and after half term) that I need to revise for. Bye!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chloe I may have taken your idea about speaking in a different language.. SORRY >.

It had been three days since the incident between John and Sherlock where they had shared an affectionate moment. Things were beginning to seem normal and they were just carrying on with their lives like nothing had happened. John ignored any feelings of Sherlock which happened to pop up into his mind, telling himself that it was purely because of the long amount of time which they had spent apart. Sherlock however, was struggling with these feelings that he had for John. He had been containing them for years now, and every day it was harder to keep these emotions to himself. He had never loved someone before, and especially never been in love. Sherlock was able to contain himself when being in public, but once he was back in the apartment, he would go insane. The detective had reached the point where he could hardly concentrate on the cases outside of the crime scene, which had never happened before and quite frankly, was worrying Sherlock. Often he would pace around his room, whispering in German, “Mein kampf ist unerträglich. Ich liebe dich, John..aber ich hasse dich” **[** My struggle/battle is becoming unbearable. I love you John..but I hate you **]**. On some occasions, Mrs Hudson would come and ask Sherlock if he was okay, and in response Sherlock would sternly say he was. In reality, Sherlock was not okay. He didn’t know how to deal with these feelings anymore. He was sick of having them and not being able to hold the one he, regretfully, loved. He had spent many months attempting to get over John, but was evidently unsuccessful. He soon gave up when he discovered he wasn’t able to push the feelings out of his mind and heart.

 

One February afternoon, Sherlock was pacing in front of the fire once again. “John sie mich brechen” **[** John you break me **]** he murmured. “You’re lucky I can’t speak very good German, Sherlock. I hope you were saying something good about me, or perhaps talking about a different John?” his friend suddenly said. Sherlock, whom of which was startled, quickly turned to see his best friend leaning against the door frame. “I, uh-“. Sherlock was for once, lost for words. “No matter Sherlock, I am not too interested in that. I just came to check if you were alright; but by the looks of things, you aren’t” John responded. “I’m fine John” Sherlock muttered sharply. “But you aren’t. Take a seat Sherlock, and explain what has been getting on your tits” John said with a chuckle, making his way over to his chair. “That wasn’t very mature, was it?” Sherlock said, but couldn’t hold back his chuckle. That was one of the many things about John which captivated Sherlock; his ability to a _lways_ make Sherlock laugh. Once Sherlock had assumed his usual sitting position, he looked into the blue-green iris’ which belonged to John. “Come on Sherlock, you can talk to me about anything” the shorter man said. However, Sherlock had zoned out. He was analysing.

 

_‘More curls than usual. Bed hair’_

_‘A few spots. Stress related’_

_‘Weak smile and weak sympathetic gestures. Lack of energy’_

_‘Large black circles under the eyes. Lack of sleep, which relates to the lack of energy and bed hair’_

_‘Left cheek slightly bruised and red. Slapped’_

_‘Clothes more casual than usual. Not bothered’_

_‘Scratches on hand. Drunk and crazy? No, that’s not John. Scratching whilst contemplating something’._

“What’s happened with Mary?” Sherlock asked. “Sherlock I am here to check up on you and see how you are doing. Not to get asked about my relationship” John sighed. “You never answered my question”. “John, quite frankly, I do not care about answering your question. Your feelings are more important to me than my own. What has happened?” Sherlock asked once more. John sighed once more, and then gave in once again, telling him about all of the frequent arguments that the two have had over the course of the last three days, and that it’s just been stressful. “John. We are going to go out for a stroll to catch some fresh air, and we are going to forget about all of these stresses, hm?” Sherlock said. John seemed taken aback. It was a very rare occurrence that Sherlock would want to go outside of 221B Baker Street and it not be associated with work. John nodded though, a smile gracing upon his lips as he realised that he must be very important to Sherlock if he was willing to go outside on a non-work basis. “We _must_ sort out that hair of yours though, John”, Sherlock insisted, getting up and grabbing John’s hand and dragging him to his bedroom.

 

Sherlock glanced at the bed and thoughts of him and John pleasing one another on it passed through his mind, unable to linger as Sherlock shook them out as quickly as he could. Sherlock was still grabbing onto John’s hand and decided not to let go until John pulled away. John didn’t. In all honesty, he was enjoying this side of Sherlock. He enjoyed holding his hand. It meant he could pretend that he was finally Sherlock’s other half. John had been suppressing these thoughts and feelings for days now, but he didn’t want to anymore. Even though the man did get on his nerves often, he also made him very happy. Happier than Mary ever could. “Right”, Sherlock spoke, and grabbed his hair brush and brushed through the curls on John’s head, the bristles gliding through the strands of blond hair, smoothening them out. John sighed happily at the feeling, and relaxed for the first time in days. Soon enough, Sherlock had finished brushing John’s hair, to much regret. He quite enjoyed pampering the man, but like all good things, it had to come to an end. Sherlock placed the brush down on his desk and looked back at John, who was staring at Sherlock.

 

Their cheeks reddened and Sherlock let go of John’s hand, only to bring it up to his shoulder, along with his other. He pulled the man’s jacket up, so it was resting on his shoulders correctly. Sherlock then gazed back into John’s magnificent eyes and brought his right hand up to cup the side of John’s face, gently rubbing his cheek. Their eyes never parted, John staring into the eyes of the detective which he could go swimming in they were so blue and beautiful. Their faces inched closer, and Sherlock decided it was the time. The time to tell John about his ridiculous but never-ending feelings for him.

 

“John…I”, Sherlock started. But a lump formed in his throat and he could not do it.

 

“I think we should get going”, he sighed, dropping his hand from John’s cheek. “Um, yeah”, John agreed, sighing and looking down. John had secretly hoped that Sherlock was going to express his feelings for him. ‘ _Which are obviously non-existent. God John, how could he ever love someone like you’_ John thought as they exited the room. After saying quiet goodbyes to the landlord, they headed out into the chilly city of London. The cold wind hit their faces but neither of the men cared. Both were in deep thought and felt upset that they didn’t share a kiss earlier on. Half way through the silent stroll, John piped up. “Uh Sherlock, may I stay round yours tonight? I don’t want to get slapped again when I arrive home..”. “Of course you can John. I don’t want you to get slapped either”, Sherlock replied with a smile. Suddenly, all of the awkward tension had disappeared and they started to chat normally; forgetting everything.

 

They shared a bond that many people wished for. One of love, friendship and honesty. But the love between them was hidden from one another. Both Sherlock and John didn’t realise that their lives would have been much better if they had just told each other; “I’m in love with you”.


	6. Chapter 6

“You didn’t come home”, Mary bluntly stated as John walked through the front door. “I know”, John replied, hiding the fear he was feeling. “You were round Sherlock’s” Mary said, anger starting to show through her tone of voice. John’s nerves increased, but he kept them at bay. “Actually, it’s not really his, it was originally both of ours but then-” John was interrupted with a now obviously angry Mary. “WHY THE FUCK MUST YOU BE SO COCKY? SEE, HE’S HAD A FUCKING BAD INFLUENCE ON YOU JOHN!”. “Mary please-” “YOU KNOW WHAT? I PREFERED IT WHEN SHERLOCK WAS DEAD!”.

 

This pushed John over the edge.

 

“What did you just say..?!”, he said with a powerful voice. “You heard me! I WISH HE WAS ACTUALLY DEAD!” Mary screamed. John was fuming.

 

“Right, listen here Mary. Sherlock is my best friend. I’ve never had a best friend like him, he is a brilliant person. He saved my life. He helped me get out of my severe PTSD and made me _happy_! I’ve never been happier with anyone in my life than I am when I am with Sherlock. He makes everything better. You know what he’s been doing recently? Comforting me! When I’ve been upset from _our_ fights, he’s been there.

After I thought he had died, I was an emotional wreck. I never smiled and my PTSD was worse than it had ever been. I cried myself to sleep almost every night! I would isolate myself and not talk for days! And when I did talk, it was only for important work matters or visiting Sherlock’s grave! The last two years have probably been the worst in my life. And I’ve fought in Afghanistan! I haven’t felt pain like that, Mary. And now he’s back, and I’m better again. No thanks to you! You were just a distraction! You _constantly_ hurt me! And I’m _sick_ of it.

I’m tired of your shit. I’m tired of you not only being hateful towards me, but towards Sherlock too. He’s never done anything to hurt you, and he’s damn well been nothing but sweet to me. He occasionally makes the odd offensive comment but I just find them amusing, most of the time. Sherlock has saved my life. And if he was truly dead, I would probably be too. Don’t _ever_ wish Sherlock dead around me. I love him too much to be thinking about that…”

 

Mary looked shocked, to say the least. Her eyes were wide, fists clenched and jaw slightly hanging. You could almost see the anger boiling in her blood. Her cheeks were flushed and she genuinely looked like she could kill somebody. John didn’t even care. He finally admitted his love for his best friend, and he was sick of Mary’s attitude about Sherlock. He sensed that she was going to blow, but he didn’t care.

 

“You did NOT just say that! You know what John? You’re nothing special either! I’ve never been in love with you. You’re just a weak and useless human being, just like your little lover. The only thing you two are good for is working, just like slaves. You’re pathetic. You obviously weren’t strong enough to fight in the war. Real men don’t get PTSD. Which is also a load of bullshit! You in general are just a pile of shit John! I can’t believe you! YOU’RE SUCH AN OBNOXIOUS AND WORTHLESS TWAT!”

 

John shook his head and a small grin formed in the corner of his mouth; reflecting his amusement from Mary’s response. “Mary, calling me names isn’t going to make me feel bad, nor make me take back what I said. All you’ve been is horrible to me. I have no reason to forgive you”.

 

“Well I’m not apologising”, Mary said, turning away from John and crossing her arms, pacing a little.

 

“You should do. That’s what a decent person would do. Sherlock would”, John said. He knew he was pushing her patience, but he couldn’t help it. He was both amused and furious, so he couldn’t really control what was coming out of his mouth.

 

At this, Mary really broke out. She stormed over to John and, taking him by surprise, slammed him into the wall behind him; grabbing his neck and digging her newly filed nails into the skin. John hissed. Mary was stronger than he previously thought. Her nails were surely going to leave a mark, and he could barely breathe. He looked down into her eyes, and only saw pure evil. How he didn’t see this before he couldn’t figure out. All he could think about in this moment was Sherlock, and how he wanted the tall, dark haired man to burst into the room and save him.

 

A kick to John’s abdomen snapped him out of his wishful thoughts. This pushed all of the excess air he had left out of him, and he was desperately needing a breath. John didn’t have the strength to fight back, since he was worn out from everything that had recently happened. The grip on his neck thankfully loosened, and the hand moved away. John was shocked, but for only a second. He believed she would stop, but no, she was only moving so she could attack in another way. John let out a painful sigh as fists collided with his face. His heart yearned for Sherlock. In the background, John could hear his phone ring; but a kick to his weak leg crippled him; meaning he couldn’t answer the phone. After a few more kicks, Mary left the room, leaving John leaning against the wall, sitting on the cold wooden floor. His breaths were heavy and he didn’t know what was coming.

 

More rings, no answer. Sherlock was scared; worried. And then it clicked.

 

Mary walked back in the room with a boiling kettle. John finally felt vulnerable, scared for what she was going to do. “M-Mary this is too far.. this is crazy!”, he stuttered. “YOU DESERVE IT, YOU STUPID FAG!”, she screamed in his face. She straddled his hips, putting the kettle down and pushing him down onto the cold floor. She pulled his shirt off, ignoring the squirming body of the doctor under her. She retrieved the kettle from the floor and poured the water slowly over the man’s chest. Quiet screams left the mouth of Doctor Watson as the water burnt his chest. Dizziness hit him and the pain was overwhelming. In the distance, he heard a loud crash..

 

Sherlock stormed through the door and saw a broken John lying on the floor, held down by Mary. The sight sickened Sherlock and broke his heart. He ran over, pulling Mary off and throwing her across the room with all of his strength. Greg Lestrade walked into the room after him, grabbing Mary and dragging her out of the room; despite her struggle to get free. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, cradling him in his arms, rocking him back and forth. Tears fell from both of the men’s eyes.

 

“Sherlock, help” John whispered before falling into unconsciousness. “I’m so sorry John” Sherlock cried, his heart breaking just a little bit more.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock sat stiffly in the cold and uncomfortable chair; staring at the unconscious face of his best friend. His face was stone cold, and his eyes were full of anger and sadness. His lips were pressed tightly together, and he looked as if he was about to murder someone. His fists were clenched, nails digging in his palms and leaving marks; but Sherlock didn’t care. Hours Sherlock had been in this position. There were only two things that he wished to do. One option was to comfort and cuddle the injured, sleeping man. The other was to find Mary and lash out on her. Sherlock knew that the latter was very unethical and irrational; and would also land him a room in jail. A tear slipped down his pale cheek as he blinked and watched John. He seemed so calm, but so fragile. Seeing John in pain always hurt Sherlock; but this had gone too far.

 

John stirred in his sleep; fidgeting in the itchy white blanket and nearly rolling off of the rock hard mattress. Sherlock snapped out of his trance and inched nearer to the hospital bed to check if John was okay. John’s eyes slowly opened and met the concerned, scared and depressed ones of Sherlock’s. “Sherlock, what happened?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

 

_John fell limp in the arms of his best friend. Sherlock’s tears dripped onto the burnt torso of the older man. Bruises were forming all over his body, and his torso was bright red. Sherlock clutched the man tightly. Lestrade walked in, informing Sherlock that he had rung the ambulance and that it was due to arrive in around eight minutes. The grey haired man looked sympathetic and wanted to comfort Sherlock, and tell him that John was going to be okay. However, he knew well enough that Sherlock would not like that. He just wanted to cradle the hurt man in his arms, so Lestrade left him to it. Mary was leant against the banister; hands in cuffs. She felt no pain, no guilt. Just anger. Lestrade pushed her out of the door and into the police car that had arrived a few minutes after Sherlock and Lestrade had. It drove off just as the ambulance arrived. Paramedics rushed in, Lestrade guiding them to the living room where a broken Sherlock was holding a broken John. They pried the detective off of his best friend, Lestrade having to hold him so he would run back to John. They carried him into the back of the ambulance, asking Sherlock if he would like to travel in the back with him. Naturally, he said yes. On the journey to the hospital, Sherlock was still in tears. Two paramedics stayed in the back, one trying to calm Sherlock down and another attending to John’s wounds and fixing an oxygen mask onto his face. Once they arrived at the hospital; John was taken to be helped and Sherlock argued with nurses to be let into the room with John. Eventually; he was allowed to be in the same room. Doctors and nurses attended to John’s wounds and half an hour later; were taking him to the ward._

“And then I sat down here, waiting for you to wake up…” Sherlock said. A few tears were leaving John’s eyes, but that wasn’t from what had happened to him. He was crying because of the pain this caused Sherlock. Nothing hurt Sherlock, except for when John was in danger or hurt. And Sherlock had seen a lot of pain upon John today. “Oh Sherlock… I’m sorry”, John said. “John, shut up”, Sherlock replied, “I don’t want to hear you apologise. This is mine and Mary’s fault”. John’s eyebrows furrowed, “Sherlock, this is not your bloody fault”. Sherlock looked down. A warm hand grasped his, causing the detective to look back up and gaze into John’s eyes. “You know Sherlock, I thought sociopaths weren’t meant to feel anything; especially high functioning ones who solve crimes all the time” John chuckled. Sherlock’s lips finally pulled into a small smile and a small chuckle left them. “I only feel for you, John”.

 

John’s heart started beating quickly; and he was thankful he wasn’t attached to a heart monitor. His cheeks flushed slightly at the words that left his best friend’s mouth. “Sherlock, I…” John began, gazing into Sherlock’s beautiful eyes once again. However, he was interrupted by nurse calling his name outside of the closed curtain, “Mr Watson, may I come in?”. John cleared his throat and replied with a yes, releasing Sherlock’s hand which he had still been holding. The nurse took John’s blood pressure and checked up on his wounds; causing him to hiss in pain and Sherlock to look at him with worry. “I’m okay” John assured Sherlock. The detective was hiding it very well, but was extremely irritated by the nurse entering. He really wanted to know what John was about to say; especially as it was important. And he loved holding John’s hand, which had stopped when the nurse entered. Eventually the annoying nurse had exited and John looked back at Sherlock.

 

“John, what were you going to say?” Sherlock asked. John’s cheeks flushed again and he raised the bed so he was properly sitting up; ignoring the pain and trying to avoid the question. “John?”. “It doesn’t matter…It was stupid anyway” John told Sherlock, avoiding his gaze. “Please John..”, Sherlock murmured, reaching out and playing with John’s fingers. A smile graced John’s lips as Sherlock showed this sign of affection.

 

John couldn’t hold it in any longer. He thought that surely, this sign of affection meant something. So therefore, Sherlock might feel the same way. And yes, he had only just come out of a relationship; and the break up wasn’t even spoken. But John didn’t care.

 

“Sherlock… I love you. I love you and I have for a bloody long time. I’m really sorry, but I do and if you don’t want to see me ever again, I get it, but-” John was cut off when a set of warm, soft lips met his.

 

John gasped, but then relaxed and began to react; closing his eyes and moving his lips back against Sherlock’s. Both of the men’s hearts were racing as their lips caressed each other. Sherlock smiled into the kiss and a few moments later; the men parted. John leant his forehead against Sherlock’s, smiling like a teenage girl who had just had her first kiss.

 

Sherlock’s cheeks were burning, his heart racing and even though his John was hurt, happiness flowed through him; because he knew John loved him back; and had all this time. And he knew John wasn’t upset; since he was smiling like a goon. But he was Sherlock’s goon. John was the only one who made the sociopath’s heart beat fast, who made him feel so many different emotions.

 

“I love you too John. I have since the moment I met you. I love you so much”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if this was too early for you, but I had to. I HAVE A PLAN OK


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a chapter I see? A long, overdue chapter which is much better than the previous seven?  
> Yes, it is. I apologise, but hey, I'M BACK!  
> Sorry, I've had exams and have been writing my Teenlock; Cast Me a Spell, Sherlock Holmes.  
> You should read it.  
> Anyway, yeah this fic is going to get so much better now.  
> And I'm also adding Mystrade to this.  
> ENJOY.

It had been a week since the incident with Mary, and John was back at 221B. Greg Lestrade was currently sorting out a date for the court case, to decide whether Mary would be imprisoned or not. At the hospital, Greg and Mycroft bumped into each other, and they agreed that it would be better if they worked on the court case together, seeming as Mycroft was practically the British Government. Secretly, Lestrade wished he could see Mycroft more often, but he knew that was never going to happen. Mycroft was a sociopath, one not open to the feeling of sentiment, just like Sherlock. Or so Greg had thought..

~A week earlier~

" _Hello, Detective Lestrade" Mycroft said behind Greg. He was sitting on a bench outside of John's hospital room, waiting to see him but giving Sherlock some more time. He also was waiting because he was thinking of what to say. Greg wanted to ask questions, but knew that it probably wasn't the best idea, and he didn't want to upset his friend. Greg heard the low voice and looked up and the suited man, leaning slightly and putting his weight onto his umbrella. It wasn't even raining outside. "Hi Mycroft. God, that Mary. How do you reckon John is feeling about all of this? He seemed to like her quite a bit" Greg rambled. He always got a little bit nervous around Mycroft; but he always put it down to Mycroft being rather wealthy and intelligent, therefore intimidating Greg. "Lestrade, your mind is so closed. Haven't you noticed? John is completely and utterly in love with Sherlock. Just look at them in there. Notice the admiration in both of their eyes. And I'm sure in a few moments, they are going to kiss" Mycroft explained. Greg rose his eyebrows. "Sherlock? Mixed with sentiment? You must be going mad" he said. "Ah, I see your point detective, but it seems my dear brother has started feeling. How ordinary" Mycroft said, spitting at the word 'ordinary'. Mycroft rolled his eyes and peered into the room. Sure enough, the two men were sharing a kiss. Greg rose his eyebrows again and glanced at Mycroft._

_He was staring at Greg._

_"Um, Mycroft?" Greg asked, and Mycroft snapped out of his day dream. "I need to talk to you concerning the court case on Mary Morstan. Let's leave my brother and John to embrace for a while" Mycroft quickly said, and started walking down the hallway._

_Greg couldn't stop thinking about how this new relationship between John and Sherlock made him feel. It made him jealous, because he wasn't able to have that type of relationship with the one person who he wanted. He just didn't know who that person was._

Greg sat at his desk and rested his head against the cool wood.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered.

.-.-.-.-.

At 221B Baker Street, a healing John sat typing on his laptop, thoughts running through his mind. Bad thoughts. Sherlock was out, analysing some blood with Molly at Bart's; as she wanted a professional opinion on whether the blood contained a chemical substance which caused the death of the deceased she was dissecting. After the kiss in the hospital, the two had barely talked about the situation. Sherlock had looked after John very well, and kissed him gently occasionally, but the two had not discussed this matter. And John needed to. Yes, the blonde did have feelings for the tall brunette, but after the attack from Mary, John felt dead inside. He felt betrayed and scared for a relationship. He didn't want to have that pressure put on him like he did with Mary, and even though he knew Sherlock was totally different from the crazed woman, John couldn't help but feel something bad was going to happen. Sherlock was a sociopath, married to his work, so John couldn't get his head around if Sherlock was being genuine or not, either. And so John had decided to break it off, whatever 'it' was, for his own safety; and Sherlock's at that. He didn't want to get himself or Sherlock hurt, so this was for the best, right?

At five o'clock, Sherlock bounded up the stairs and hung his grey trenchcoat up on the coat-hanger, which stood by the door. John was staring at his computer screen, leaning his chin on his hand, sitting at the desk piled up with newspaper reports and written evidence. A frown made it's way across Sherlock's porcelain face as he made his way over to the quiet man. When he reached John, he wrapped his arms around the smaller's shoulders and leant down to kiss his cheek, but John shook his head. Sherlock's heart flipped. The doctor removed the detective's arms from his shoulders and stood up, turning around to meet the bright blue eyes with his own watery ones. Upon seeing John's state, and accounting the shake of the head when Sherlock tried to show John some affection, Sherlock knew what was happening. He stumbled backwards, shaking his own head frantically. Sherlock had never felt like this for another human being, and definitely had never expressed his feelings. For years Sherlock yearned for the man in front of him, and now he was going to lose him; only one week after finally getting to hold him, kiss him. Had everything John said in the hospital a lie?

"Sherlock please, you have to listen.." John started, looking at the pacing man in front of him, who was holding his large pale hands up to cover his face.

"No, John. I can't!", Sherlock spat out, removing his hands from his face, presenting his own watery, and now dull grey eyes to the elder. "Do you know how much courage it took for me to actually finally tell you and _show you_ how I feel? No, of course you don't, because you're a _normal_ person who has actually experienced these _feelings_ before!".

John's eyes spilled over with silent tears. So Sherlock was genuine, but John just couldn't do this. "Sherlock.. I..".

"No, John! I get it! I was a rebound, wasn't I! You couldn't cope not having Mary there anymore, knowing the person you love hurt you, so you latched onto the easiest and most vulnerable person near you. God, you ordinary people just _love_ screwing with my feeling's, don't you!" Sherlock ranted, his voice raising.

John's blood began to boil. "No, Sherlock, you were not rebound and if you would just listen to me-" he began, before he was cut off again by the curly haired man with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Everything you said to me in the hospital was a lie, wasn't it! That you've loved me, all this time. That's a bloody horrid joke, John!" Sherlock cried, forcing tears from his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Sherlock, how the bloody hell was I meant to lie about that! It was all true, all of it! Just LISTEN TO ME!" John screamed.

Sherlock remained silent.

"Right. Well, I..I've had a lot of time to think this over and.. I.. I'm not ready. I've gone through a whole load of crap with Mary and I can't help but think the same will happen with you. I know you're not the same and all, but.. I just need time Sherlock" John said, his tears now not so angry, but still falling.

"I..Okay.. You're scared of me. I get it.. I'll leave, give you time" Sherlock stuttered, and headed for the door.

"Sherlock, please.." John whispered, jogging forward and grabbing Sherlock's sleeve.

But Sherlock couldn't be there. He had to get out, had to leave. He pulled his sleeve free from John's grasp, grabbed his coat and escaped into the cool atmosphere of the London evening; ignoring the worried calls from their landlady. He didn't even turn back to see John pressed up by the window, jaw open as if he were to call Sherlock's name.

.-.-.-.-.-.

It was eight o'clock and the sky was a deep orange, night soon to be arriving. Sherlock was strolling through quiet streets, amber lights hitting his flushed face. He had stopped crying momentarily when he distracted his thoughts, but that wasn't as easy as it seemed. He always drifted back to thoughts of John. _Their lips pressed together, looks across dining tables, cases together._ Water trickled down Sherlock's face with every memory, and the man had never felt more vulnerable, fragile, or weak. His hands were balled up into fists in the pockets of his flowing jacket, and Sherlock wasn't aware at all of his surroundings. So when someone grabbed the man by the shoulders and started dragging him, it came as a shock.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to release himself of the masked man's grip, and he started sprinting down concrete streets, aware of the padding footsteps following behind him. Soon though, the footsteps faded, and Sherlock found himself in a dark alleyway littered with broken glass and dead cigarettes. Oh, how he craved for a gulp of nicotine right now. He continued walking forward, and as he looked behind him to check if the anonymous attacker had definitely gone (which he was), he tripped over a large bundle of rubbish. He landed on the floor with great force, cutting his hands, arms, ankles and face on the sharp sides of shattered beer bottles which were scattered all over the place. Sherlock allowed more tears to fall from his eyes as he crawled to the side of the alleyway and leant his back against the cool brick wall. He brought his knees up and buried his bloodied, wet face in them; a weird sense of deja vu hitting him from his teenage years.

_Running. That's all he could do. Run as far away as possible from home. A dark alleyway, just around the corner. Legs burning with lactic acid and fatigue from constant strain. A pocket, rattling. His brain burning with need. Collapsing against the brick wall, reaching in the pocket, receiving a piece of apparatus, the end covered. Liquid moved around inside of the plastic sphere as the cover was removed, exposing a long, sharp steel needle. Rolling up a shirt sleeve, exposing self inflicted cuts from blades and marks from previous injection. Taking the needle, pressing it against the skin, pushing against the top. Liquid pouring into the blood stream, relief washing over his body. Free from feelings. Free from pain. Free, free free._

"Sherlock!".

The man woke up upon hearing his name. The dream being of his teenage years, and now being a craving that hit the man once again. Sherlock blinked and looked up, his cheeks stiff from dried tears.

Greg Lestrade stood above Sherlock.

"You're up late" Sherlock muttered.

"You mean early! Mate, it's six in the morning. What are you doing here?! I got a call from Mrs Hudson, saying she was worried because you had left looking terrible and hadn't returned all night!" Greg explained.

Sherlock groaned. He loved the woman, but she needed to learn that he was a grown man. "Greg, go home, I'm fine".

"Fine my arse. Cuts all over the place and tearful, you've never looked so endangered" Greg protested.

"You make me sound like a rare breed of animal" Sherlock sighed, standing up with shaky legs.

Greg rolled his eyes. Trust Sherlock to make a comment like that at a time like this. "Come on, let's get you home."

"I don't want to go home."

"Tough. You're getting home and you're getting washed up and in bed." Greg demanded, and pulled a groggy Sherlock out of the alley and into a cab, seeing as Sherlock had managed to walk seven miles away from Baker Street.

Soon they arrived outside Baker Street, where Greg had given Sherlock a big bear hug and told him to get some rest, and 'put a smile on that face', to which Sherlock had no intention of doing. He muttered a thank you to the detective inspector and stepped inside of 221, quietly. He then made his way up to his flat and was surprised to see John up. He made no eye contact with the man, but knew he had seen the state of him when he heard a gasp from across the room. Sherlock turned to look at John, and nearly burst into tears again when he saw that his eyes were also puffy and red from excessive amounts of sobbing. John just stared at Sherlock's battered face, unsure if to say anything. Sherlock just sighed and turned, letting the tears fall down his face as he entered the bathroom to clean his cuts.

Sherlock couldn't get back to sleep when he lay down in his bed. All he could do was cuddle up to his pillows and cry. The sounds of a broken Sherlock sobbing down the hall from John made the elder man start crying himself, his heart wrenching with pain as he listened to the cries that he caused.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Sherlock’s head was screaming from the drug induced hangover. He sat up and his head was spinning greatly. He rolled out of the bed and straight onto the floor with a loud _‘thump’_. He groaned loudly and stood slowly, making his way to the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, it was as if it was the self he knew from six years ago. His face was grey and pale. His eyes were bloodshot and tiresome, large bags under his eyes. His curls were tousled and he had bruises and cuts all over; oh what a sight he was. Sherlock sighed and brushed his teeth to rid of the nasty taste he had in his mouth. He then undressed from his clothes that he was still wearing from the previous night, and hopped into the shower. He turned the shower on and washed, the cuts stinging but he honestly couldn’t care less. After he was washed, he just stood underneath the jets of warm water and thought over last night. _The rejection, the break up, the fear, the vulnerability_. A few salty tears slipped down Sherlock’s cheek before he forcefully wiped them away. He clambered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, picking up his clothes afterwards and then making his way back to his bedroom. He pulled on underwear and then a navy shirt, clean trousers and blazer. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands, water dripping onto his knees from his hair as he sighed. He was so angry at himself, at Mary, at the world. He felt so w _eak_ and no matter how much he tried to push the feeling of despair out of him, his heart still yearned for John. Sherlock shook his head and towel dried his hair before pulling on shoes and making his way out of his bedroom. In the kitchen is where John stood, drinking from a mug. Sherlock avoided his gaze and strolled past him, his breathing a bit shaky. He pulled on his coat and scarf and bounded down the stairs, and out of the front door, ignoring the calls of his name.

 

It was a cool day, nippy on the skin. Sherlock was feeling particularly ill, which he found odd. He had never felt this ill before the morning after. ‘ _Maybe it’s because I haven’t injected heroin in so long’,_ Sherlock thought. He shook the feeling off and continued walking, not having a destination, with his cold hands buried in the pockets of his coat. His head was pounding and skin tingling, a strange sensation coming over him. This had happened before, twice before in fact, while he was tracking down Moriarty’s web. He groaned and stopped, holding his head in his hands, which were now clammy but still freezing. His head span and he tried to turn back to get inside, but he fell to his knees. He was only a street away from the flat. He tried to crawl against the damp ground, but only made it a few metres before fully collapsing on the side of the road. His vision was hazy and Sherlock just gave up, muttering John’s name before falling unconscious.

 

John was watching the clouds move in the sky and the cars whizz past. He sighed, and turned to put his mug away, but something caught his eye. He leant out of the window and right at the end of the street, Sherlock was lying on the edge of the pavement, dangerously close to the busy road. John didn’t even hesitate to slip on his shoes and a jumper, and his phone, and run out of the flat towards Sherlock. He fell to his knees next to Sherlock and pulled him onto the pavement properly, out of danger. He then held his hand to Sherlock’s wrist and there was indeed a pulse, which relieved John slightly. However, this didn’t ease his worry. “Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up” John said, shaking Sherlock a bit and pulling his head into his lap. No response. After more useless attempts, John resorted to calling an ambulance.

 

On the way to the hospital, in the back of the ambulance with the paramedics and the unconscious detective, John clenched and unclenched his fist. John bounced his leg up and down. John chewed on his lip with worry. John ignored the reassuring comments of the paramedic, until they became too unbearable. “I’m a doctor, an army doctor in fact. Stop attempting to calm me down because I know this man and I god damn know that this isn’t good.” The paramedic gave up then, and aided the other in taking Sherlock’s blood pressure and the rest of the average, but needed, procedures. When they arrived, they wheeled Sherlock off to an examination room and ordered John to take a seat in the waiting room, where they would call for him when they returned. John, of course, sat down for no less than five minutes without standing again and pacing in concern. He couldn’t help but think that this was his fault. Sherlock came back with bruises and scratches last night, and his eyes were glazed over. ‘ _If he fucking…God he took drugs again…Heroin…He could have been killed because of me…Oh for fuck sake John you should have been the one to jump off of the hospital roof, but for real_ ’ John thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowing.

 

Quite some time later, an hour and forty two minutes later to be exact, a doctor called John’s name and told him to follow. John did as he was told and walked down the hallways, soon arriving at a male adult ward. John nervously clenched and unclenched his left fist again as they walked in, and towards the bed at the end with the curtains closed around it. The doctor led John through the curtains and there was Sherlock, looking fragile and groggy, but awake, with tear stains down his cheeks. “Hey” John whispered moving towards Sherlock, just wanting to hold him. “What are you doing here, John?” Sherlock croaked, fear but hope present in his voice. John nearly broke right there, in front of the two nurses and doctor present. “I called the ambulance for you Sherlock, and have been here worried sick. What happened?” he said, turning towards the doctor, to which Sherlock shook his head violently. John’s eyebrows furrowed, “What the bloody hell is going on?”

“Take a seat Dr Watson..” the doctor spoke, sighing slightly at the end. John’s hands trembled as he sat on bedside chair. The nurses left for a few moments and the doctor stood in front of John.

“Please, please don’t tell John” Sherlock croaked.

“I must, Sherlock, people must know. I will need to call Mr Holmes anyway, as well as your parents, as they are your family. But I’m sure John here deserves to know” the doctor said.

“Damn it, tell me what’s going on! I’m sure I could find out myself as I am a doctor and would be able to have access to Sherlock’s files” John said, slightly angry but extremely concerned.

“Please, Dr Watson, I know it may be hard but please try to stay calm” the doctor sighed and looked into John’s eyes, “Sherlock here had a CT scan of his brain and it showed that he has been struggling with haemangioblastoma, a rare type of brain tumour that usually affects the blood (‘haem’) vessels in the brain or sometimes in the spinal cord. It hasn’t been noticed before as it takes a few years for symptoms to develop, and Sherlock admitted to having a few black out moments whilst he was away for two years, which was when it started growing. The tumour is spread over both sides of his brain, so surgery is not possible. We will try radiotherapy to destroy the cancer cells, but it isn’t certain, as you know.”

 

Sherlock was crying silently and John was frozen, unable to say anything, not wanting what the doctor was saying to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> Please comment what you would like to see in the future.  
> Don't say 'get rid of the cancer'.


	10. No More Writing.

Hey.

So.

I'm giving up on this fan fiction.

I have no motivation to carry on stories. I will, however, be writing one shots as they do not take dedication. Yes, that makes me sound so uncommitted but I just have school work to do and generally don't want to write much anymore because I'm feeling so shit all the time.

I will delete this work in a few weeks. If someone else wants to claim this work and carry on with it, that's completely fine. If that is the case, please leave a comment below and the first person to comment will claim this work. However, could you please give me credit for the already written chapters and/or the idea.

I'm sorry if this disappointed or let down any of you.

Thanks.

_-Saraid._


End file.
